I nearly got into fisticuffs with a small, nerdy, Asian American gal at the Hotel Erwin last week. I say fisticuffs, because that is a ridiculous word and it is ridiculous that a long bar line would result in such shenanigans. But that is what happened.
I was at the High Rootop Lounge at the hotel for my friend’s final of three birthday celebrations. And no, Bruce is not one of these needlessly extravagant people. He just has a lot of friends all over LA and, very nicely, made himself available in three different locations throughout the week.
I don’t know what was up my ass, but I was angry from the moment I parked my car near Windward Circle. I was angry when the main elevator didn’t work and I had to take the service elevator. I was angry, when there were no signs getting off the elevator directing me to the Lounge. I was angry all the way to the rooftop, where I soon discovered there was about a 20 minute wait to get a drink at the bar.
Along with a nice professor couple, I’d been waiting in line forever for a fucking cocktail, when this young woman, of whom I have already mentioned, had a lot of questions about the drinks listed on the menu. Then, she decided she wanted to sample a couple before ordering. So, I tossed off some sarcastic remark. It was meant to entertain the academic friends of my birthday buddy, but it was a bit loud.
In her messed up pony tail, striped rugby shirt, sneakers and large round glasses, the young woman turned around and shot me a nasty look. I gave her a nastier one back. She returned to making her order. After finally getting her cocktail, she quickly skirted around me and hissed, “Classy” under her breath as she went past. I turned and, with my arms spread in an ‘oh you want a piece of me’ stance, confronted her: “That’s real brave, saying that to my back. Oh, real brave.”
For a second, I didn’t think she was going to back down. I thought she was going to pass her drink to a young male companion and come at me. But, there was some fear in her eyes at what the crazy, skinny, old, red-headed, white lady might do, so she backed off. Wise choice. Very wise choice. You don’t want to get into fisticuffs with a chick who can drop a 110 dog on his head in three seconds and whose Old Man taught her how to throw a proper punch.
When I told my story to Bruce last night at the Roozt Launch Party (appropriately flabbergasted and penitent over my behavior) he responded, “Oh honey, we need to get you laid.”
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